


Halloween

by HollyKasakabe



Series: Tumblr Requests [9]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 2nd POV, 2nd Person, 7.6K, F/M, Halloween, HollyKasakabe, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Description of Murder, OC death, Reader-Insert, daughter - Freeform, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyKasakabe/pseuds/HollyKasakabe
Summary: Request: Spencer Reid x Daughter Hotch? Nobody know Hotch has a daughter around Reid's age, until she's brought into the BUA for protection, because she fits an unsubs' target perfectly. Genius, Hacker, Geeky, shy. Becomes best friends with Garcia. Happy end!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N - Your Name  
> Y/F/N - Your Friend's Name  
> F/S/N - Friend's Sister's Name
> 
> Timing Note: Hotch is dating Beth, Morgan is dating Savannah, and Alex is still on the team.

The time had come. After years of being sheltered, you were finally going to enter the FBI offices as a full-fledged adult in need of full-fledged protective custody. You could've lived without the latter, but if anyone was going to hold your safety within their hands, you felt your dad and his team were the best possible choice. You followed behind him, taking advantage of his height to duck down and keep your eyes on the backs of his shoes while he led you out of the elevator and down a short hallway to the double doors in front of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. A visitor's badge was clipped to your cardigan, a backpack was over one of your shoulders, and you held possessively to your phone in your left hand.

You were still wearing the black dress you had donned for F/N's funeral.

It all started a week ago. Since the Reaper had killed Haley, you'd decided to take a gap year between high school and college so that you could stay home and help raise Jack, permitting Hotch to continue to take cases and stick killers behind bars. As much as you hated that you'd lost your mother, and as well as you knew how much she had grown to detest Hotch's career, you also realized that the Reaper could have just as easily killed someone else to taunt Hotch and left that woman's daughter in the same state that you'd been in. Hotch had an important cause to work for and you supported it, so in turn, he financially supported you while you worked a part-time job during Jack's school days and played the role of his guardian the rest of the time. Just this year, you had decided that, since Hotch had Beth helping your small family out, you could afford to start taking a few classes at the nearby college. While there, you met F/N. You hadn't wanted to talk to anyone, but F/N refused to take your silence as an answer. The two of you could have been sisters; it was a little bit strange at first to look at her and first wonder what was wrong with the mirror. You had the same color of hair and eyes, the same thick hair and easy, slightly messy hairstyle, were only a fraction of an inch apart in height, and similar skin tones. There was ten pounds of a weight difference _at most._ What was crazier? She had a twin.

There were three people who looked like you on campus, and it drove the professors nuts in the two classes that you and F/N shared.

It was the Halloween party that probably sealed the fate. Everyone acted like a freak on Halloween, but someone had decided to take it a step two far. Twisting Dr. Seuss, you, F/N, and her sister had all gone dressed in skirts and red shirts as Things One, Two, and Three, wearing thick white face paint and heavy pink eyeshadow to further obscure the differences between you. When they'd picked you up from home, Jack had run to F/S/N and started excitedly telling his "sister" about his day at school, and Hotch had given F/N a list of chores that he wanted done by the end of the week. Then you'd come down the stairs, Jack and F/S/N had emerged from another room, and both males looked as though they'd seen ghosts.

"Too many of you," Jack complained, tugging on F/S/N's long red sleeve. She giggled and patted his hair and told you that your brother was cute.

You'd had more fun than you would have thought. The twins had taken you to a frat house and you'd become the center of attention of a handsome boy who came on _way_ too strong. Luckily, he turned out not to be a complete jerk – once F/N saw you were in trouble and intervened, politely asking the young man to back off and informing him that you weren't comfortable with all of the attention, he had apologized profusely, given you a crooked smile, and told you that he was around for help if you needed it. His name was Seth, and he was a sophomore. You didn't see him again that night.

You didn't see much of anything else that night, either, because the party was broken up by the police being called when F/N found her sister's body in a huge puddle of blood in one of the bathrooms. She had screamed. You were normally uncomfortable talking to large groups of people, but adrenaline and concern had pushed you to power through, and you cited your father's profession and shoved your way through. The few frat boys who had thought it was a prank hadn't even bothered to check F/S/N's pulse, just assuming she was having them on. You felt her throat and as soon as you felt the very real, and unfortunately very familiar texture of blood, you knew you weren't going to find a heartbeat. If she wasn't wearing face paint, you would have known she was dead instantly, the same way you had known when you saw Haley's body on the floor of your old house.

A murder had transpired, and you did the first thing you could think of and called your dad. Why wouldn't you? Beth was called to stay with Jack while Hotch came and got you, and after you gave your statement to the police, he took you to your favorite restaurant and didn't comment when all you did was pick at your food, stomach roiling.

That morning, you were contacted immediately by the police and brought in for a series of questions. You weren't a suspect, but they thought you might be in danger, because F/N's parents had gotten back from a meeting with a funeral director and found F/N changed into her Halloween costume, murdered just like her sister, with her body splayed out over the kitchen table. The police thought that having forced her into the same outfit the previous victim had worn might be a little bit significant, and yeah, you agreed. Even you saw the danger in it, so as soon as you told Beth that you couldn't pick up Jack from school, you called Hotch. The stress finally caught up with you and you told him through tears where you were and that you needed protection.

The BAU was on the case before it had even been sent up through the right government channels, and your father assured you that you would stay with only the agents he trusted most, and you would never be left alone. If you weren't going to be in a secure room with the technical analyst he considered family, then you were going to be with Rossi, Reid, JJ, Blake, or Morgan (the names meant nothing to you), who were all armed and wouldn't let anyone touch you.

Hotch glanced behind him to look at you and see your face. You were still nervous about meeting his coworkers. He assured you that they were all people he trusted with his very life, but you had always been timid about meeting new people. You'd been introverted for as long as you could remember, and only grown more so after Foyet.

"You'll be okay," he promised, reaching for you. Without moving, you let him hold his hand to your lower back and guide you in through doors that he held open with his other arm. Crossing your own over your chest, you rubbed your arms and kept your head down, looking around but careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

The bullpen didn't seem like it was loud, but it became very hushed when you and your dad were noticed. Most of the agents towards the wall by the doors and mezzanine looked straight to Hotch before they checked you out, but no one seemed anything but sympathetic and curious, until a woman came up to you both, leaving the desk of a black man with a gun at his hip, which you noticed with a slight grimace. Guns were not your favorite. You'd like them for as long as they kept you safe, but after being threatened with one by the Reaper, you'd be happy if you never saw anyone with a firearm again. Yet, if Dad said that he trusted these people, then you supposed you would, too.

This woman in particular looked out of place in the bureau. You looked at her clothes rather than her face and hoped that she wouldn't take offense. Other than noticing the frames of glasses and streaks of a coral-pink color in her blonde hair, all you saw were gold bangles on her wrists, manicured fingernails, and bright-colored clothes, including pastel tights, purple pumps, and a dress with swirls and polka dots splashed with a rainbow.

"Is this her?" She asked Hotch with a note of wonder in her voice. Your dad nodded. You nodded a little bit, too, interested to know who she was. Hopefully, she would take it upon herself to explain so that you didn't have to ask. "Oh, chica," she sighed, holding her hands out. She reached halfway between you and stopped, giving you the power to decide whether or not she touched you. You lifted your hand to shake hers and she had a tight, motherly grip. "I'm so sorry, darling, but I promise you, you're gonna be so safe here that if you get a _papercut,_ we'll arrest the printing machine."

You giggled a little bit.

"Y/N, this is Penelope Garcia. She's our technical analyst. If you have any homework for your computer programming class, she's the person to ask," Hotch chuckled warmly at both of you. "Garcia, this is my daughter, Y/N. She's majoring in computer sciences."

"Gosh, have you come to the right place!" The analyst was kind and worked herself into optimistic excitement, pulling you gently by the hand away from Hotch's side. She started leading you away from the other desks. Over your shoulder, you looked at Hotch in alarm. "You're gonna love my lair. Well, it's not _actually_ a lair, it's an office, but I call it my lair because it's not as drab. What's the fun in going to an office? But a lair, no one says no to going to a lair."

"Don't you think she should meet the rest of the team first?" Dad called after you both, making Garcia halt in her tracks. One of her hands stayed on your wrist, which you didn't mind too much. You didn't not like people, you just weren't a big fan of socializing. Having friends was fun. Making them was intimidating.

"Right! Yes!" Garcia gasped and pulled you back towards your father. Your head was going to spin if your entire stay consisted of being commandeered and driven around the FBI. You had a lot to deal with already, and you just hoped that this team was as good as you thought they were and could catch the killer. You wanted justice for your friends' wrongful deaths. "Yes, Chickadee, come on. I'll show you to your honor guard. I promise they won't bite."

 _My honor guard?_ Well, at least she was taking the "protective custody" thing seriously.

First, she took you to the desk that she had been at before she noticed your entrance. Several agents were all looking at you and watching the proceedings, but the one Garcia had been standing with rotated his chair around so his feet were out from under the desk and had covered up his sidearm with his jacket since you'd seen it. Maybe there was an advantage to being looked after by profilers; he must've noted your negative reaction. Other than appearing athletic and well-built, he seemed friendly and exuded warmth and hospitality.

Garcia was excited to introduce you to him. If you had to guess, you'd say she had a clear favorite. "Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan, and he will defend you heroically because he is my, and now your, knight in shining FBI-issue Kevlar."

You smiled shyly at Agent Morgan, who didn't reach for your hands, so you didn't offer. "Hi," you said quietly.

"Hey, sweetness," Morgan returned kindly. Unlike the frat kids who would've sounded lecherous, drunk, or flirty, Morgan managed to make the endearment sound like an _actual_ endearment, the same way that Beth sometimes called you "honey" or Hotch called you by your nickname. "This computer over here is Reid." He pointed over his desk to the one behind it, to a young guy with dark brown hair and a lanky, tall figure, even when sitting down.

"Reid Dr.," Reid told you, standing up hurriedly and rubbing his palms over his thighs. He realized what he'd said and frowned. " _Dr. Reid,"_ he corrected himself, switching the words back around. Instead of relaxing, his frown just intensified. "Dr. _Spencer_ Reid." Finally, he seemed satisfied, smiled at you a little awkwardly, and sat back down, scratching the back of his neck.

Sure, the introduction was a little bit comedic, but you knew better than probably anyone else in the room how mean it could be to tease someone for a little difficulty with presenting themselves or mixing up their words, what with being sensitive to it yourself, so you ignored the mistakes and nodded, getting out a 'nice to meet you.' "Why did he call you a computer?" You asked. Garcia had let go of your hand, so you wrung your fingers in front of you to control the urge to shut up and go back to your father's side. College wasn't so bad when you were soft spoken, but the FBI was much more intimidating. Not only were they federal agents with guns, but you were there because of a killer, which made it ten times more stressful.

"Watch this," Morgan grinned. "Reid, what's thirty-six to the power of four divided by seventeen squared?"

Reid looked up to the ceiling, but only for a couple of seconds before he had done all of the mental math on his own. "Five thousand, eight hundred eleven, point eighty-two… when rounded to the nearest thousandth."

"Wow," you commented, blushing along with Reid, who seemed pleased but unused to being complimented. Both of you looked away from each other when Garcia cooed.

"And this is Alex Blake!" She turned around and indicated for you to come with her, going to the next row. On the outer desk was an older woman, maybe in her forties, with brunette hair and a black blazer over her long-sleeved shirt. Blake smiled at you and held out a hand. You shook her hand with a loose grip and ended it when she did. "She can scare off a bad guy in four languages," Garcia cheerily bragged.

"I have a PhD in linguistics and I'm a licensed translator," Blake supplied in explanation.

The next person that Garcia dragged you over to was your father again. "There's also Rossi and JJ, but JJ's not here right now and Rossi's been locked in his office like a recluse for the last two hours," the techie told you conversationally. She didn't seem to mind being the one doing most of the talking, instead being compassionate to that you weren't the most outgoing person in the world. "You can always meet them later. No, really, you definitely will. Rossi's been bugging the G-Man about you ever since he told us he had a daughter, and JJ's excited to meet you, too. Is that all you brought?"

It took you a minute to realize she'd changed topics and was now asking about your backpack. "Yes," you answered, looking down to your hand as you fisted the strap over your front.

Garcia smiled. "That's okay, sweetie, I've got lots we can do that can't fit in a backpack and I'm sure we can convince someone to get you to a laundromat if you need one." Personally, you'd been banking on the investigation being closed pretty quickly. You weren't looking for something just a step short of Witness Protection; a day or two sleeping in the FBI, and then you could go back to your normal life before you got too far behind in your courses. Garcia moved on breezily. "On to the Bat-cave, Robin, where magical worlds of computer software await. If you're a computer geek, you're gonna do a _backflip_ when you see everything I got. Would you believe the FBI gives me thousands of dollars' worth of equipment when they only actually hired me so they could stop hunting me?"

It had been maybe five minutes, and your head was already spinning. You hoped Garcia elaborated on that last part.

* * *

You had never taken to anyone as quickly as you took to Garcia. Maybe it was her kind and loving nature, or maybe it was just how she was so wild and outgoing that you didn't feel like you could be judged for being your normal, quiet self. All you knew, or really cared to know about it, was that she made you feel comfortable, especially once you were a little bit more used to her. You started to speak a little bit more, didn't worry about muffling your laughter when you were amused. With her huge monitors, Garcia pulled up your favorite movie franchise and the two of you watched as much as you could before you were yawning, even with the assistance of coffee.

The next morning, you changed clothes and took care of your hygiene in the bathroom. Garcia had fallen asleep after you had, so you didn't know how long she'd actually been resting, and hadn't wanted to wake her up. The FBI in general had to be a pretty safe place. Transferring your visitor's badge onto your new outfit, you pushed back your hair and ventured back into the bureau. Your dad had had to go home – he did have another child to care for, after all – but maybe it was late enough in the morning for him to be back. You weren't sure what you'd do if he wasn't.

Six in the morning was not, as it turned out, late enough. No wonder you were so tired… if you'd thought to check the time before changing, you'd have just gone back to sleep. The bullpen was practically empty. But was that – yes! It was! There was a light on under the doorway of one of the offices up on the mezzanine. Your dad had told you that his office was up there. Being the unit chief, he had the seniority and the authority to have a specially-large office instead of just desks on the floor level.

Keeping your head down, you went up the mezzanine steps to the raised walkway along the wall and followed it past a dark office to the one with the light on it. You knocked to be courteous, but one of the few agents that was in was looking at you. Being up higher than the desks made you more noticeable. Eager to get into a smaller space where you didn't feel like you'd be in trouble for no reason, you walked inside without being invited… and regretted it, because the man at the desk was _not_ your father.

A tiny, anguished squeak made its way out of your mouth. How embarrassing…

"Um."

"Well, hi," the man said behind the desk, swiping reading glasses off of his face. He wasn't that tall. Even sitting, he seemed less intimidating than your dad. He was European, maybe Italian or Spanish, and older than your dad, at least fifty, with the beginnings of a salt-and-peppered beard. He was dressed business casual, with a comfortable black blazer, and a piping mug of hot coffee with the steam still rising sat near his right hand. "I didn't know I was expecting company."

There was no reassuring hand at your back or preppy analyst to help you out. Shifting to your other foot and swallowing hard, you took a deep breath. You were here in _protective_ custody, not in _interrogative_ custody. No one was going to hurt you, and the guy seemed amused, not angry. "Well, um, you weren't... I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

You held your breath then. Your wardrobe was pretty typical for a college student, and while you owned a few nice things for practical reasons, dressing professionally hadn't been your biggest concern when you packed your things for your field trip to the BAU. So, while you tried to present yourself as an innocent and insignificant individual who made a mistake with no ill intent, you stood there in your jeans and t-shirt with the band name emblazoned on the front. You did not fit in.

"Don't tell me," he said dryly, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. Obediently, you shut your mouth and looked down. If he didn't want you to tell him something, well, by God, you were not going to tell him something. "Hotch's little girl, right? Though, I guess, you're not all that little." Grimacing, you nod. He put his mug down and leaned over the desk, rolling his shoulders and crossing his forearms on the table. "SSA David Rossi. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Agent Rossi," you murmured.

"Dave."

"Okay."

He studied you intently. "How is it that you escaped the clutches of the Good Witch?"

"Galinda's asleep over her computer, so I popped on out of Oz via yellow bricks," you quipped, leaping without thought onto the references. Then your eyes widened, blood rushed to your face, and you wished you could just disappear.

Rossi seemed to think you were funny, though, because he chuckled heartily. "I like you, kid," he said in what was clearly supposed to be a praising way. "Have you had anything to eat?" You shook your head. He stood up. "Well, I've been staring at this one page for twenty minutes, so I could use a break. C'mon. It's not DiGiorno, but there is a place downstairs where we can pilfer some food. What do you say?"

Dad wasn't in, Garcia was unconscious, and none of the three agents she had introduced you to were around yet. Rossi was the only person you knew. As nervous as you were that you might do something wrong or make some horrible social faux pas that existed only between federal agents that you didn't know about, you would prefer being with someone you barely knew to being completely alone… especially since two of your friends had died and the Halloween costume that you had all worn seemed to be pivotal to the murders.

* * *

You spent nearly an entire forty minutes in the cafeteria with Rossi before his phone rang with a notification alert, and he announced that you both needed to go back to the BAU – yourself as proof of life and Rossi as brain trust to work the case. Hotch was a little aggravated that you weren't within sight when he went to try to find you, but relaxed and gave you a hug when you said that you were fine and that Rossi had just been helping you. You hadn't even realized you were hungry until the profiler had suggested it.

In the meantime, you went back to Garcia's lair, expecting just to find the techie you'd grown to tentatively like. Only, when you got there, Garcia wasn't alone. She was accompanied by a tall, slim blonde, who introduced herself as JJ, the media liaison-turned-profiler. She was beautiful and kind, and had a child at home with her husband. You were warmed to her before she'd even opened her mouth, and she quickly became one of the first people you went to to talk to in the next few days.

You had to stay longer than you had thought. When the un-sub didn't find his third victim – AKA, _you_ – he seemed to go to ground for a while. You wanted to be optimistic and say he had never intended to target you, but Beth had taken Jack home after dinner two nights into your protective custody only to find that the house had been broken into, your bedroom door broken in, and a broken vase that you used to hold a bouquet of flowers in. When he hadn't found you, he'd thrown a temper tantrum and made your bedroom look terrible. Dad didn't let you see the pictures, but Garcia had wrapped you up in a short hug and promised that she would take you shopping for some new things.

Three days, and you were content with staying right where you were. If you had fought with Hotch on whether or not you needed protecting, you very well may have lost your life.

Four days, and you were starting to feel a little bit of cabin fever, but overall, you were still content with staying where your safety was ensured.

Six days going on a week, and all you wanted was to shoot the killer yourself so that you could go sleep in your own familiar bed, and maybe read your brother a bedtime story. You _always_ read Jack a bedtime story, unfailingly, until someone had decided they wanted to plunge a knife through your back.

You played with the hem of your nightgown when you ventured out of the little cavern of Garcia's office that you had been holed up in for the majority of most days. It was barely past one in the morning and most of the sane people had gone home, even Hotch. After the break-in, you felt immensely guilty that the un-sub might've encountered Jack or Beth, and believed it to be nothing short of dumb luck that they had decided to go out to a restaurant. Hotch refused to concede that you were in any way to blame, but, just to be safe, he and Beth had both agreed that it was better if the three of them stayed at a hotel until the case was solved.

If you wanted anything, you had a technical analyst who had all but cried several times just from trying to imagine how you felt and several agents in the building at any given time to respond to your distress call. However, you couldn't remember a time you had felt more alone – isolated in a building full of people who didn't _really_ know you, with someone wanting to murder you in a Halloween costume you had swiftly grown to loathe, and without the chance to partake in any of the normal activities you enjoyed. Sure, you were learning a lot from Garcia, and your professors had been appraised of the bare necessities of the situation and had given you projects in lieu of classes, but you still had so much time to be lonely that it was hard to keep your chin up much longer.

Part of your assignment involved making your own website, so, with a sigh of your shoulders and a gentle roll of your head around on your neck, you took your laptop and travelled out to the kitchenette. Hotch usually locked his office door when he left, but he'd been leaving it open for you if you needed to be alone. You'd not really been given a chance to mourn for your friends before you got swept up in everything else. The logic you used was that you could get some of the cheap bureau coffee and get some homework done in his office. You felt terrible and your heart wouldn't be in it, but you could always touch up on it later.

At this rate, it seemed like you wouldn't be going back to school for _weeks._

Your plan was derailed halfway through making your coffee. Someone cleared their throat and coughed, startling you, and with wide eyes, impulsively feeling guilty for using coffee that belonged to an organization you weren't really a part of, you started to apologize.

Reid held up his hand, a mug in the other, and with a gentle smile, he quieted your apologies and calmed your nervousness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I thought you would still be asleep."

"Nightmares," you mumbled, sinking back against the counter and out of the way. Reid slipped past you, going to make his own coffee refill, while you moved your filled mug out of the way and sought out the milk in the little fridge. You were acutely aware of his presence, but tried not to act like you were on edge by it. He didn't make you feel threatened, just a little awkward. What were you supposed to talk about?

"I used to have those," he responded empathetically while his coffee brewed.

You looked up to him curiously. You'd seen one of your friends' corpses, touched her dead body while looking for a pulse that wasn't there, felt her blood on your hands. "How did you make them go away?"

Reid's smile became a little crooked. "I didn't, not at first." He, too, leaned against the counter, hands behind him and pressing on the edge. "And sometimes, they still come back. But I manage them, because I remember that I may have memories that my brain can scare me with, but I've also shored up a list of things that make me feel better, too. Safer. Less lonely." He paused. "Gideon – an agent who used to work here – he helped me by giving me a photograph of a little girl we saved, not long after I joined the team. Maybe you could ask Hotch to bring you a photo of your brother."

"I have plenty on my phone," you replied.

He shook his head. "It's not the same as having a physical picture to touch," he disagreed, and you had to hand it to him – his calm tone was soothing you, his quiet voice making you feel like you weren't quite as abandoned and hopeless as you had thought.

You swallowed. Most of the time, you didn't want to talk. You still didn't, but you thought maybe it would be worth speaking up a little if it meant that you got to have a little more of Reid's time and his relaxing attention. "What are you still doing in? I thought everyone would have wanted to go home."

Reid's smile turned confused, yet remained polite. "I don't think anyone would be going home if they could help it," he told you earnestly. "But everyone has someone to go back home to. Even Rossi – one of his ex-wives is in town. Hotch has, well, Jack, and Garcia has a cat she has to feed. Blake's husband is visiting, Morgan has a girlfriend, and JJ has a son. If they didn't have responsibilities at home, I don't think they would've left you here on your own."

"So what about you?" You questioned, unable to let your curiosity rest. The notion that a bunch of adults who didn't personally know you would give up the comforts of their homes for your sake if not for other personal obligations seemed weird and abstract when applied to anyone but your father, and maybe Beth. Why was Reid still there, talking with you, when he could've been with someone he cared about? "Why stay when you have someone else?"

"Well, my mom lives in Las Vegas, so I can't really visit her every day," he said, aiming to make a joke. You giggled a little bit and he smiled, pleased to have lessened some of the tension. The bumbling, awkward doctor you'd been introduced to seemed much more at ease when it was just the two of you. "And… I don't know, Y/N. The thought of you being here on your own, when you might need to talk… when you apparently _do_ need to talk," he amended, looking at you meaningfully, because that was what you were doing right then. "I didn't want that to happen if I could prevent it, so here I am."

* * *

You and Reid quickly became friends, to the point where you interacted with him as much as you did with Garcia. Your late-night chats became the norm for the pair of you. Reid tended to come in later in the morning, but because Hotch knew that he was keeping you company long after the sun had gone down, he pretended not to notice. In your head, you stopped thinking of him as Reid and instead as Spencer, your friend, and although you hadn't had enough time together to talk about everything, you did seem to talk about anything.

Your nightmares persisted, but you felt like you had more control over them. Spencer didn't ask you to talk about them, but he didn't say not to, either. Instead, you talked a little bit about his life growing up, and a bit about the funny misadventures he had when he and the team were off the clock. You were amazed by Spencer's intelligence. You had a high IQ that your school had actually failed to quantify when you'd been tested, but Spencer blew everything out of the water. Three PhD's by the time he was twenty-one, and finishing up high school before he was even old enough to have a driver's permit. Spencer tried to pick up some of your language skills from you, since you'd taken four years of a foreign language in high school, but you'd found out that he was great at memorization while terrible at pronunciation. You told him about a boy you'd dated during your senior year of high school, and added a detail you hadn't even told Hotch: he had broken up with you because he thought you were spending more time with your family than with him, and this was while you were practically raising Jack, because your mother had been murdered. He had known what had happened, and he'd still cited your prioritizations of taking care of your baby brother as a reason to break up with you. You grew sullen while you talked about it, but it felt good to get it off your chest for the first time. Obviously you couldn't tell Jack, and you hadn't known Beth at the time, and you hadn't wanted Hotch to feel bad about the responsibilities you were taking on as well as being a student, so you made up a lie about how you broke up with him peacefully so you'd both have more time to focus on school and SATs.

You talked about lighter things than your lives, too. The two of you bonded over shared interests in science fiction and "geek" movies. Spencer had developed a healthy appreciation for Marvel after you talked him into bringing a box of popcorn so that you could watch the _Iron Man_ movies together one night. Your unofficial plan was to watch all of the movies with the individual superheroes and lead up to _The Avengers._ There was a convention coming up in the next few months that Spencer invited you to go to with him. He wanted to dress as Tom Baker's incarnation of the Doctor, his personal favorite, and you theorized that maybe you could go as Tegan or Sarah Jane.

"If I even live that long…" You'd muttered under your breath, hit by a wave of pessimism. At nearing two weeks of bureau captivity, it was getting harder to believe that the un-sub would be caught. You'd seen enough horror movies to know that the minute your guard was let down, you'd be murdered in your bed. The problem was that _not_ letting your guard down meant staying in the FBI for the foreseeable future.

Spencer had set down a mug of fresh coffee that he seemed to live off of and touched your knee with his hand, rubbing his thumb over your thigh and leaning forwards to meet your eyes. Spencer wasn't much of one for a lot of touching, and he was rather conscientious of everyone's personal space, so it was shocking enough that he'd touched you, much less when he locked eyes with you in an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

"We _will_ catch him," he stated simply, and then went on to tell you everything they'd gotten. Partial (unidentified) fingerprints from the house break. A profile (white male around your age, disorganized, with a fixation that revolved around the identical nature of your and your friends' costumes). They had reason to believe that he lived nearby, and knew he'd been at the party to kill F/S/N, and suspected that he may even be one of the frat kids in order to commit the crime without standing out. "So, Y/N, I promise you, you won't be here forever."

* * *

The next night, you came to Spencer reasonably early. You were sure that the rest of the team, Hotch included, had gone, because you wanted the privacy to be uninterrupted and the security that came with having someone you trusted to be honest yet sensitive leading you. Then you approached Spencer's desk with a mug full of his favorite flavor of coffee and approximately four tablespoons of pure sugar dumped in, delivered it to his desk, and locked your hands behind your back.

"So, I was thinking about something, and I realize it may not be _fun,_ but I'd rather be a little upset for a while than let this continue."

The genius finished what he was doing on the computer in a few seconds, saved the document using the control shortcut, and then pushed the chair away from the desk, swiveling it around to face you. He planted both shoes on the floor and leaned over, hands in his lap, and met your eyes, giving you his full attention.

"You said that you think the killer was at the frat party," you reminded, grimacing even as you said it. You couldn't believe you'd been talked into going to a frat party. "And I picked up somewhere that serial killers like to see the results of their actions. So maybe it's possible that he was there when F/S/N-" You flinched, took a breath, and started again, trying to depersonalize. "-When the body was found?" Spencer nodded slowly, encouraging you to continue. "I want you to do a cognitive interview on me," you announced, looking down to your toes. "When I heard F/N scream, I took over. I pushed everyone away and instructed someone to call the cops. I even blocked people from the bathroom to preserve the evidence. If there was someone trying to nose their way in, I probably would've seen them."

* * *

You breathed a little bit faster. F/N's scream echoed in your ears, just as loud and heart-wrenching as it had been when you'd heard it for real. Although you kept your eyes screwed shut as Spencer had instructed, you had a hard time seeing the black of your eyelids when what you were thinking back to was full of colors and movement. The only grounding sensation you felt was Spencer's larger hand in yours, gently squeezing your palm in reassurance.

"You're doing so well," he praised, half-cooing in comfort. "You have to push a group away from the door. What happened next? Do you recognize any of them?" His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

While you were reasonably sure you were supposed to be focusing on your memory, you instead paid more attention to his hand, swallowing hard and squeezing. You were sure your grip was too tight to be nice, and possibly a little sweaty from nervousness and apprehension, but Spencer didn't move or comment, for which you were grateful.

"I recognize some of them," you said, imagining yourself in the shoes you'd worn three weeks ago. Some of the colors were unclear, faces distorted, but the ones that stood out weren't always the ones that had just been closest to you at the time. Flashes of features through the door of a frat boy you shared a calculus class with, although you'd only glimpsed the side of his face in passing over the shoulder of a blurry zombie costume. "Mostly from around campus, but a few are in sports teams. Oh, and Seth," you added as an afterthought, scoring your eyes across the doorway, refusing to move your eyes to the right. You knew you'd see the blood-filled bathtub in your flashback if you did.

"Who's Seth?" Spencer asked, pressing calmly for more details.

You didn't think it was that important, but you went along with it. He was the profiler. "Just some guy that we met earlier that night. He came onto me, F/N asked him to back off, he said he was sorry for being too forward, and he left. I didn't speak to him again." In your recollection, you could vaguely place his voice, maybe saying something. Maybe saying your name. At the time all you could hear were F/N's screeches, alternating between heartbroken and furious. "He's taller than me. Shorter than you, though. I… he had a cup in his hand. Probably something alcoholic, because he didn't look completely with it. Drinking messed with his red face paint."

"What was he?" Spencer pushed his fingers into your palm, pressing on the back of your hand with his thumb, the pressure relaxing your grip. "Who did he dress as?"

"Tate Langdon," you answered with a slight grin, remembering how you'd initially jumped when he'd come and tapped your shoulder. Then you'd hid behind a bottle of water and laughed, recognizing the cosmetics and the black hoodie.

"Who?"

"Oh. He was a character from _American Horror Story,"_ you explained. "He wore the outfit from when Tate shot up his school. Um, dark black and oversized sweater with a hood up, and black, white, and grey paint to draw a skull on his face." You faltered as you explained. That was right. When you'd recognized him from his face paint, he had been dressed just like Tate. And later, he'd had red face paint. "Oh…"

"Oh?" Spencer drew you out before you got too far wrapped up in your realization. You realized your hands were trembling. Spencer covered your hand in both of his and held on, silently promising that he wasn't going anywhere. "What is it? What do you see?"

You swallowed. "He wasn't supposed to be wearing red face paint," you said dryly. "And it was on his hoodie, too."

* * *

October 31st. Your least favorite holiday.

"Are you okay by yourself, Chickadee?" Garcia, respectfully wearing a dull-colored outfit, touched your shoulder while you stared down at the two headstones side-by-side.

Wordless, you nodded, clutching a bouquet of black-painted roses in your hands, with a silk ribbon wrapped around the flowers in your murdered friends' favorite color. Garcia left you alone in the cemetery, finding the path and going back to your car. It was the anniversary of F/S/N's death. In one week, it would be the anniversary of F/N's. In seven days, you would be standing in the same spot, a bouquet of the same flowers in hand, the same dress on your body, the dress you'd worn to their funerals.

Seth was nailed on all charges – first-degree homicide, stalking (to find your and F/N's addresses), breaking and entering, and trespassing with malicious intent. He would never get parole, but after several appeals by a lawyer his high-income father had hired onto his retainer, it seemed as though he might be declared mentally unfit and taken off of consideration for a life sentence. You personally hoped that would never happen, and in the upcoming weeks, you would be called into court to testify against the decision.

"I won't let him walk from what he did to you both," you whispered to their graves. A gentle rush of wind acted up and teased your hair, lifting it over your shoulders, strands curling against your cold cheeks. Kneeling down, you deposited the bouquet gently on F/S/N's grave, the flower petals a gentle cushion against the granite headstone.

On your way out of the cemetery, you were met by Spencer, who took one look at your face and then reached for your hand. He held onto your hand and entwined your fingers loosely, pulling you to walk by his side as he led you to the car. Tiredly, you rocked your head onto his shoulder. "Thank you for coming with me," you whispered to the man who had become your best friend in the last year, tying with Garcia in the role.

Halloween sucked for you, but Spencer loved it. You thought it was time you got some closure. The holiday was never going to be your favorite, but if Spencer adored it, then you would learn to be okay. You were determined not to see any real corpses that night. Spencer was going to go to the opening night of a horror film and follow it up by attending the Safe Treat event that you, JJ, and Garcia were all taking Jack and Henry to. The Safe Treat was hosted by your college, and it was the first annual event of its kind, founded in honor of the two students who had died the year before. Faculty and students alike were attending to game, candy, and pumpkin-carving booths, there were going to be photograph opportunities, a costume contest was arranged, and campus security had enlisted their full staff, as well as volunteers from the local police, to make sure that everyone was safe and secure while they had their spooky fun.

"Of course I came," Spencer responded back to you softly, turning his head to rest his cheek over your hair. While you slowly walked together down the block towards your car, he pressed his lips against the top of your head. "I love you."


End file.
